


Gunmetal Blue

by Benjamin_Hale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort Nest, Eventual Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Relationships, Eventual cuddles, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Samodiva!Stiles, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Needs a Hug, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjamin_Hale/pseuds/Benjamin_Hale
Summary: Teen Wolf except Stiles is a massive bisexual, also a Polish fire fairy, and he just needs a hug.So much slow burn because Stiles is closeted and Derek doesn't understand feelings.Scott McCall is a dick, but we love him.Lydia is such a wingwoman holy shit y'all.





	Gunmetal Blue

The ticking of the clock was the only thing Stiles could truly focus on. The droning voice of his chemistry teacher muttering about the idiocy of his students and the scratching of pencils on paper was little more than white noise in the back of his mind. He was somewhat aware that his lack of attentiveness to his test would land him in trouble if he were caught, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away from the moving hands of the clock, watching each second roll around at an agonisingly slow pace.  
Only ten minutes left, two five minute segments, five lots of two minutes. He had to go through two minutes, five times. He could do this, he could finish up his test with time to spare.  
But if he had time to spare, what harm would it be if he lost himself in his thoughts for a little longer?

Stiles ran his thumb over his lips, parting them slightly to run his tongue over the pad, resting it on the tip of his fingernail. He moved the fingers of his other hand in a pattern, his mind beginning to slow down, the onslaught of thoughts slowing down to allow him to focus on himself and his surroundings.  
Stiles Stilinski, chemistry room, Mr Harris being a dick (as always), Scott sitting a few feet in front of him-  
Scott McCall, best friend, kind of an idiot, werewolf-  
_Werewolf_.

It had been roughly a month since Scott had been bitten, and Stiles had kept his furry little secret without a question. Roughly a month since Derek fucking Hale had casually strolled into their lives with his intimidating demeanour and gunmetal blue eyes-

 _Gunmetal blue_.  
Stiles didn’t know why he thought something so poetic regarding the eyes of a guy he hardly knew. But to be fair to himself, they were gorgeous. He’d only managed to catch a few glances at Derek’s eyes, eye contact being one of the most uncomfortable things in his life, but the times he’d truly been able to admire the colour felt as though he’d been wrapped in the warmest embrace of beauty. Stiles really liked colours, each one had a significant meaning, but blue was his favourite, which is something he found quite ironic.

Then his thoughts were clouded by the events that occurred a few nights prior; the fading of those gunmetal blue eyes and the blood dripping from Hale’s mouth as he was hoisted off of the ground, and tossed down carelessly. The ghost of the utter terror and heartbreak Stiles had felt in that moment coursed through his veins, tears threatening to pool in his eyes at the memory. He felt numb and terrified, and as he looked back down at his paper, the words stopped making sense, dulled to meaningless syllables and letters in his overcrowded mind.

The teen glanced up momentarily, looking at his friend, noticing something off. Typical exam room stress? It would be understandable, so he tried to brush off the nagging feeling as he tried to focus on the jumbled words on his page.  
Then, without warning, Scott grabbed his bag and left the room. It didn’t take long for Stiles to drop everything and run out of the room after him.

 _Panic attack_ , he thought to himself, understanding full well how overwhelming everything must have gotten. The unrelenting onslaught of noises that would seem mundane to most people - such as the clicking of a pen, or even the ticking of the clock that Stiles had been so focused on - but Stiles understood the agony of it all, especially considering everything Scott had been witness to in just a few days.

Scott’s bag laid on the floor of the hallway, a new surge of panic coursing through Stiles as he had more flashbacks of their near-death experience in those very halls a couple days ago. Deep down, Stiles knew his friend was fine, but the nagging feeling wouldn’t go away, and he was left hoping he wouldn’t have an attack of his own as he went hunting down Scott.

_________________________________________________________________________

  
It was all getting too much.

Everything with the Argents and Scott being a dumbass and Derek being a fugitive and the constant worry piled onto Stiles was proving too much for his mind to take.  
It was roughly two in the morning, and the teen was sat at his desk, rocking at a steady pace to try and work the adrenaline out of his system. His laptop illuminated his face, but it was becoming too bright and overwhelming. He got up from his chair and grabbed the red blanket he kept in his closet, running his fingers through the soft fabric in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

Stiles grabbed pillows and blankets off his bed, creating a makeshift wall around him, his breathing speeding up and tears racing down his cheeks. There was a loud ringing in his ears, his thoughts too loud and too fast and too there.  
He felt too warm, and then cold again. He thought he saw flames dancing around his fingertips when he opened his eyes to make sure he was still alive. He couldn't differentiate between reality and his own fucked up mind, and it brought Stiles to tears. Choked sobs echoed throughout his room as he tried so desperately to pull himself out of this living nightmare, nails digging into the soft blanket that now felt like sandpaper against his hands. Everything was agonising to him, even the distant sound of his laptop fans was enough to make it feel as though his ears were bleeding. Stiles curled into a ball, shaking profusely, praying to whatever deity was listening that this pain would end soon

It took him about thirty minutes to truly calm down, shockingly one of his shorter attacks. He didn’t move from the floor, finding a sense of comfort and security in the den-like enclosure he’d built himself.

Stiles was calm, drifting off until he felt something enter his room. He was immediately on high alert, pillow tightly held in his hands as some sort of pitiful defence mechanism. He saw a shadow pad across the carpeted floor, glance at his still open laptop - the light unfortunately just casting more shadow instead of illuminating the intruder’s face - and then towards the completely empty bed,

“Stiles?”

The voice was familiar and comforting, despite the distrust Stiles insisted he felt towards this person. His shoulders dropped, his body no longer painfully tense with fear. He reached up, flicking on his bedside lamp,

“Derek! What are you doing here? My dad’s the sheriff, and in case you weren’t aware, we’re trying to keep you out of prison, dude! If anyone finds you up here right now then we’re all screwed! I can’t believe you just climbed in through my window like some creep-”

Stiles’ rushed speaking was cut off by Derek’s exasperated sigh, a hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose,

“Look, I’m here because I trust you enough to not rat me out to the cops, and also because I need a place to stay until I’m no longer a wanted criminal. Can you please just let me stay here until we can figure something out?”

Stiles wanted to say something, say that he couldn’t risk having a criminal at an unplanned slumber party, to call out to his dad and alert him of the fugitive who had just climbed in through his window-  
But he knew he didn’t really want to deny Derek. His expression was filled with what seemed to be genuine fear, and as Stiles cast a glance at his eyes, he could see the anxiety that Hale was hiding.

Stiles couldn’t manage words, his mouth hung open without a single sound emitting from his throat other than his own breathing. He eventually gave in, nodding his head and laying blankets out on the bed for his uninvited guest.  
When he was done, he gestured to the bed,  
“We’ll figure out sleeping arrangements some other time, but for now, I’m tired and quite comfortable on the floor, and you look like you need a week’s worth of sleep. Now, lay down, shut up, and sleep tight, Sourwolf.”

Stiles grinned at Derek, curling up in his (now vaguely misshapen) nest, and passing out as soon as his head hit one of the many pillows. He missed Derek’s very genuine smile, one that could light up all of Las Vegas for millennia, one that didn’t leave his face until he too had climbed into bed, and fallen asleep.


End file.
